He's a Trickster, Doctor Cox
by Neversaid-I-Madesense
Summary: Now, the claws, he could handle—Jordan's nail files came in handy then. It was when he sprouted a tail that he realized he couldn't ignore it anymore.
1. By the Time His Shift Ended

He's a Trickster, Dr. Cox

* * *

_I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf…_

Dr. Cox had never liked werewolf movies. The idea was so overdone, so cliché, that he loathed them nearly as much as he did Hugh Jackman. Almost. It was annoying, all the werewolf films coming about nowadays. _New Moon_, _the Wolfman_, _Underworld_. Pah.

Oh, look, someone's getting ripped to bits by a big bipedal wolfie! Pfft. It wasn't even that scary, anyway. He'd _lived_ through scarier shit than that-- no thanks to his father.

He stared down at his open palms that suddenly seemed so much bigger than before, and the now clawed fingernails. He swallowed. He could handle a manicure, no problemo.

_I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf…_

Wincing at a sudden burst of pain, he decided to pull off his shoes, too. Okay, he could handle a manicure _and_ a pedicure. No big deal.

Dr. Cox was infamous for his tendency to have extremely stubborn fits of denial.

_I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf…_

He bit and filed at his nails until they were stubs, but it didn't matter-- they grew right back a few seconds later. He didn't care what Keith said, he wasn't going to accept it, because there was no way in hell.

Werewolves just didn't _exist_.

_I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf…_

* * *

**(The night before.)**

Dr. Cox treasured the rare moments where he could just relax on the lounge couch, in total silence. Hell, he might even be able to catch a short nap. For once, today the hospital didn't seem to be trying to screw him over.

He was going to take _full advantage_ of not being bombarded with annoying-ass interns, and worst of all, _Newbie_, who for some reason (that he didn't care about) wasn't working today; Kelso said something about a conference across town and that Dr. Dorian should be back in the morning.

Perry, however, took pleasure in imagining that 'Dr. Dorian' was _never_ coming back.

But then he heard footsteps.

"I could tell you were one from a mile away, y'know. You must be pretty good, to hide it for this long. That's a good thing, with _him_ hanging around." Pretty-Boy Keith-- Barbie's boyfriend?-- said in a conversational tone. Casual, almost.

The Irishman should have known it wouldn't last.

He didn't even bother to look up, "I would ask what the _heeell_ you're talking about, Pretty-Boy, but I just remembered that I don't care."

"Aw, c'mon, Dr. Cox, no one's around, you can admit it." Pretty-Boy probably thought he sounded clever.

"_Still_ don't care." It was times like these that he almost missed Newbie-Theatre. Nelly wouldn't have hesitated in explaining what she was talking about if she were here.

But Newbie wasn't here, and Dr. Cox was glad for it. Really.

There was a pause. Sounding surprised, Keith said at last, "You don't _know_? But-- shit. You must be _new_, then. One of _his..._ hell…"

Yep, Newbie-Theatre would do him good right about now. It was annoying, yes, but he knew how to deal with it. At the moment, he couldn't tell if Pretty-Boy was being serious or not, where he always could with Sally-Anne. The weird comments she made after snapping out of a daydream always gave it away. "Okay, now I'm curious. _What_ are you babbling so insanely about?"

A flash of fear darted across Pretty-Boy's face at the Irishman's growling tone, but he began nonetheless, "Dr. Cox," Keith took a breath, as if bracing himself, "have you been… _bitten_, by anything lately?"

He had, in fact, been bitten some mangy stray dog just the night before.

He remembered the pure wavy blackness of the large dog's fur, how the highlights appeared blue in the dark moonlit night as he walked home to his apartment (his Porsche was in the shop). He remembered thinking that whoever the owner was must love their dog a helluva lot, because he'd never seen such a well-groomed coat before. Smelled like shampoo.

He remembered the bright blueness of the huge dog's mysterious, glittering eyes. How intelligent they had looked. He remembered cautiously reaching out to pet it, shamelessly in awe of its beauty. He recalled patting its soft, silky head.

He remembered it biting him half a second later.

Then he remembered… nothing. He just woke up in his room, in his bed, nothing but a two scars where he could still so vividly see the animal's gleaming white fangs sink into his flesh. He knew it had been real, he just knew.

But what did it matter? "No, I have _nawt_. Why do you care, may I ask, Pretty-Boy?"

Keith didn't answer. "I'm guessing it happened pretty recently, because you don't have the look."

Now he was getting annoyed. Not that wasn't already. "'_Look_'?"

"Yeah," Keith swallowed, "the look."

Finally, Perry sat up straight on his elbows and glared at Pretty-Boy with all the menace he could muster, "Do I even want to know what this so-called _look_ is?"

Keith got that wide-eyed deer-caught-in-headlight look, as he always did whenever either Dr. Cox or Barbie was mad at him, but he didn't stop, "It's pretty important that you know, yes."

"_Well_," Perry rolled his neck and bared his teeth in a sarcastic grin, which grew wider when his bones gave a satisfying _crack_ sound. "By all _means_, tell me, then."

Keith stared at him, still with that terrified expression, seemingly unable to utter a sound.

Dr. Cox cocked his head to the sight in mock curiosity. "A_hem_. Out with it." He commanded, making a small gesture with one hand that had no relation whatsoever to the subject at hand.

Again, Pretty-Boy swallowed. Harder this time, really preparing for something that he probably thought was important, in which case it was of no importance whatsoever to Dr. Perry Cox.

"Sharp teeth, bigger than you before…" Keith began, before abruptly blurting, "You're a werewolf."

Aaaand time stopped.

Now the Irishman was just _nawt_ going to let that slide. "_Run that by me again_?" It was times like these that he really appreciated the fact that his voice could get low and gravelly if he wanted it to.

Though, it had never quite sounded so _growly_ before. Interesting.

Keith, however, flinched at the sound, but for other reasons. "It's gonna happen soon."

Dr. Cox rolled his eyes juuuust a bit overdramatically, but then again there was ju-_h_ust never enough drama in his Godforsaken life, now was there? "I don't even wanna know, do I?"

Looking more than a bit anxious, Keith said urgently, "Dr. Cox, I know you won't believe me now, but you've got to--"

"I've gotta do _nothing_ that _you_ tell me to do, nutcase." Perry spat, jumping up onto his feet in one jerky motion and stalking away. So much for his quiet break. "How does Barbie put _up_ with you? Oh, right, I forgot-- she's even crazier than _you_ are." And he sure as hell meant it.

"_Wait_! Just listen!"

Pretty-Boy sounded pretty serious. Dire, even. But what insane person didn't? 'The end is nigh! We're all going to die!' Feh.

"There's another werewolf-- totally black!"

Aww, now why's it gotta be a _black_ thing? The image of the big black, wolfish dog from the night before flashed through his mind and Perry walked a little faster.

"If you see him, RUN!"

Or else there will be black-on-white violence or whatever-the-hell? Pretty Boy, you _racist_. Liiiittle bit faster with the feet now, Per-Per.

"He's vicious, Dr. Cox. He turns you, and then he'll _tear you apart_! I've managed to stay out of his way so far, but… he's really good at hiding it in his human form, Dr. Cox…"

How terrifying. Where's a Hollywood director when you need one? He could see it now: _A werewolf who turns a person just to kill them, and a heroic young man with a destiny like no other!_ Blahblah.

"I'm serious, man. He'll kill you!"

Keith's voice was becoming more distant.

"Be careful!"

Perry snorted as Pretty-Boy's voice finally died down. Time to get back to work. For a second he wondered if he should warn Barbie about her boy-toys apparent craziness; but realized that she probably already knew, that was probably why she'd hand-picked him anyway.

Crazy people are attracted to other crazies.

Thus, the law of nature.

Because, _honestly_. Werewolf. If that wasn't a load a shit right there, Perry didn't know what was. He'd gotten bitten, so what? It wasn't like he'd suddenly be thrown into some bloody horror film or whatever. That, obviously, only happened in-- you know-- _films_. And TV.

He didn't need his brain to get anymore rotted, thank you ve-hery much, which was what would've undoubtedly happened if he'd listened to another word Pretty-Boy had been spouting.

By the time his shift ended, he'd completely forgotten about the whole incident.

* * *

**A/N:** I believe I just may be the first one to post a (experimental) Were!Scrubs fic. I'm not quite sure how long this is going to be. I already have three other chapter-fics I need to work on (one of them being _Scrubs_), so I'm just getting this out of my system now to be rid of distraction. Yes; Keith is also a werewolf. Why did I choose Keith? …I dunno. I felt like writing a character that I've never really used before.

Who is the black wolf? Guess. Might be obvious, might not be.

I hope you guys liked it! I certainly had fun writing it. I think I might've really channeled Perry there, at least somewhat. 'Til the next installment!


	2. He Would Regret It

**(A few moments ago.)**

Without Newbie around, things were pretty uneventful.

He'd admit it. Not out loud, but still; Dr. Cox was starting to miss the little girly shit. Tormenting all the other people didn't give him nearly the same satisfied feeling afterward. He glanced at his clock, and though he couldn't quite read it, he could still tell what time it was. Two, maybe five in the morning. Somewhere along those lines.

He didn't have any idea how he _could_ know that, it was like some internal clock had been installed in his brain. He could just _sense_ the, er, _general _time.

Of course, he was feeling to weird to really give it a across his couch, trusty bottle of scotch in hand, he watched TV, not really registering what was happening on the screen at all. His head was fuzzy-- and not just because he was buzzed. He could handle a friggin' buzz. He'd been worse off…

Vision clouded, he stood, wobbling just enough to utterly _piss him off_. What was wrong with him? …Was he sick? Ah _hell_, he hoped not. He made a sudden swerve for the bathroom, and somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered something that really had nothing to do with anything; that the window in there was still open from when he'd used it earlier-- he'd have to fix that.

Shit. He _was_ buzzed.

Anyway. Just what he needed: Bobbo getting on his ass over something he had no control over.

Not that that would be any different than the norm, but for some reason, he was just so _very_ irritable right now, and the thought made him see red.

…He was literally seeing red. In his reflection in the mirror. On his hands.

He jerked them up to his face in a flash, studying them. There was blood on his fingernails, which he didn't quite remember being so long. And pointy.

And was it just him, or did his hands just seem _bigger_, somehow? His mouth tightened in thought, and he started when sharp canines dug into his lips.

He winced in pain when his shoes suddenly became too small for his own feet. Feeling strangely numb, he yanked them off.

What in the name of _hell_ was happening to him?

And, like a sucker punch to the gut, Pretty-Boy Keith's words came crashing back to him. _Werewolf_.

All thought stopped simultaneously, except for one word: _No_.

_I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf…_

He wasn't a werewolf. He was just drunk. This was a dream. In the morning, he'd wake up to a grouchy-ass Jordan Sullivan who'd give him a good telling off for getting drunk just because he missed his precious Sally Sensitive.

Which was so not why he'd started drinking the scotch that night in the first place. Why should he care? Newbie would be back in the morning anyway, he was probably either already back or on his way by now. Stupid kid was too dependent on his friends to go solo for too long.

Why the hell was he thinking about Gloria at a time like this?

He bit and filed at his nails until they were stubs.

_I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf…_

But it didn't matter. They grew right back a few seconds later.

_I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf…_

There was just no way.

He could deal with this. He'd just ignore it and hoped it went away. Just like always.

He didn't notice how his thoughts were becoming more of a frantic, panicked mantra.

_I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf…_

_I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf…_

_I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf, I am not a werewolf…_

He realized he couldn't ignore it when he sprouted a tail. Right above his ass, too. If Jordan could see him now...

The thing was the same color as his human hair-- that odd but not unpleasant mix of red, blonde, and brown. He swore the fur was just as curly, too.

_Fuck_.

* * *

Okay.

Being a werewolf wasn't too bad.

He didn't start ripping and tearing into the first person he saw. No one had died yet and he didn't really plan on it.

He didn't even look like those Hollywood werewolves, anyway. He looked like an actual, quadruped natural wolf; albeit noticeably larger than those you saw on National Geographic and the like. Curly, red, blonde and brown fur, exactly like his hair. He still had the same blue eyes that were always haunted by his stolen childhood.

Nothing changed. He had full control of himself. He didn't look any different in his human form, either. Just sharper teeth, which Carla had commented on once.

The full moon or sunlight didn't affect him either. He could transform whenever he damn well wanted (though it was a biiit painful), be it midnight or broad daylight. The first time, on that scotch-filled night, had been two days and nights ago.

_Well, three now,_ he corrected himself as he watched the rising sun from his bathroom window; his unofficial escape route for whenever he felt like stretching his furred legs-- which happened to be right about now.

So, all in all, this whole werewolf thing was a win-win deal. He certainly was a bit happier and definitely freer than he'd ever felt before.

He told no one why he seemed to smile more often than he used to, of course. Keith, however, obviously knew. The pretty boy had practically collapsed with relief when he'd seen the elder doctor walk through the hospital doors in one piece.

Pussy said he 'didn't want to see anyone hurt.' Pfft. He was a _werewolf_, who the _hell_ would try to--

Oh right. The black wolf.

Perry hadn't seen any sign whatsoever of any other werewolves _anywhere_ except for Pretty-Boy. He couldn't detect any familiar doggish scent, even with his newfound canine sense of smell. Couldn't hear any of those faint doglike noises that werewolves sometimes made instinctually in their human form.

There were no other werewolves. Not any he could find, and take his word for it; he searched like a mad rabbit looking for his carrot.

Oh, God. Did he actually just use that phrase? Slap him now.

And Newbie? He came back. Simple as that. No special entrance, nothing. He stepped through the doors, greeted everyone (as he'd seen his little band of friends first thing after his arrival already, no doubt), and resumed his rightful place as World's Most Annoying Doctor at Dr. Cox's side, playing his natural role as the older man's lapdog.

Nothing, nothing at all, had changed much.

Nothing at all.

* * *

Perry didn't see the wary looks Keith kept shooting at JD.

He also didn't see the way the girly man's blue eyes glittered mysteriously whenever he looked at him, nor did he see the blue highlights in the kid's wavy black hair.

He didn't see Newbie's pointed canines.

He would regret it.

* * *

**A/N: **Well. All I have to say is that I blame listening to too much violent rock songs, full of tales of deception and mystery. Why would JD want to kill anyone? Why would he turn them into werewolves first before killing them? Why would he want Dr. Cox dead, of all people? Why did I make JD the black wolf in the first place?

One: because I like evil!JD way too much, and two, I wanted to do something I've never seen before. Full of mystery, you make your own guesses. Which I would like to hear, by the way.

I might make some kind of a prequel/sequel to this someday. Probably, since I had so much fun with this. But for now, this is complete. I wouldn't mind to read your ideas, though.

Overall, however, this is the most epic thing I have ever written so far in my non-military career (which is nonexistent).

Bye!


End file.
